Erik growled lightly, rubbing the blotting the ink out on the music sheet. The music just wasn't flowing... the notes didn't have the rhythm that he wanted… it was choppy… cold, no emotions attached. The Phantom shook his head harshly. How could the emotion NOT be coming through? The emotions of raw pain, and swirling confusion were spiraling within him, and he couldn't make the music feel the emotion…it just wasn't working! With another growl, he snatched the paper up from the oak desk and tore at it, ripping it in his immense anger. A quiet moan, barley detectable, came from the room up the stairs. Erik's acute ears honed in on the sound. It was the girl. He was waking her in his loud action of tearing paper. He stilled, allowing the bits of shredded paper float from his hands to his ground, then help his face in his hands, resting his elbows upon the dark desk, sighing. Breathing deeply, he worked to calm himself, then looked up, running his hand through his aburban wig, its authentic hair smooth under his fingers. The wig had been costly but it was entirely worth its weight in francs, becoming like the real hair he had never had, coving his thin, blond hair that receded high onto his scalp on the right side. A second moan from the girl brought him to the surface of his conscience.

Standing, he rose to his daunting six foot two height, and trotted up the short stair, pausing in the door way, observing the frail child lying among the lush red velvet sheets. Her tangled, mouse brown hair was spread about her head, accenting the bruise around her eye. Her brow furrowed, discomfort obvious in her young face and she shifted in her sleep. Erik's own eyebrows came together in a sever v above his cool blue eyes, the crystalline orbs glazed with sorrow and contained fury. He breathed deeply, and entered the room, and strode to the bed side table, where he kept a cloth, pitcher, and bowel of water. He dipped the cloth into the bowel of clear water and then squeezed the cloth so that it remained damp, but not sopping. He lay it gently upon the girl's twisted brow, and sat on the beside, with yet another sigh, wishing there was something he could do to relieve the girl's pain. He was sure that there was more extent to her injuries than he was aware, beneath the clothes, but he dare not remove them. He had cleaned her obvious wounds, but was uncomfortable with the thought of removing the young girl's clothes to clean any others. If he were any other man, he would know exactly what to expect, but…..

His life of persecution had denied him the joys of the flesh. He had never known a woman, never gazed upon the naked beauty of a woman. And as much as he wanted to help this girl, he was terrified of discovering the one thing he could not have, and would never have. Not that he thought that he would turn into one of the monsters that had hurt her, but he had unexplainable fear that refused to allow him to strip away the dirty rags that the girl wore.

He had so horribly wanted to touch Christine, to feel her skin and savor her kiss, and yet, he had never thought of how he would react if the time had ever come when he was allowed the privilege of her skin. Not that he ever thought that he would have it… he had sparked on it ever so briefly when he had sung the duet with her upon the stage licked with fake flames of red material, mounted upon a high bridge. She had been such a beauty in her Spanish stylized costume, so gorgeous….

When will the blood begin to race?

The sleeping bud burst into bloom?

When will the flames at last consume us?

The entered the bridge together, Erik hardly daring to hope that that seductive tone of voice that Christine was wearing so broadly was genuine. The strode slowly towards one another, singing in perfect unison, perfect rhythm, so much so united in song he was sure that their hearts were beating together.

Past the point of no return

the final threshold

The Bridge is crossed

so stand and watch it burn!

We've past the point of no return…"

…Erik jerked out of memory, to find himself some length of tunnels down from his lair. He had not noticed that he had continued to stride down the stairs and even out of his lair, blinded by thoughts. He shook himself, mentally and physically, forcing his thoughts clear of his mind and focusing on what he would do when the little girl woke up. Hopefully he could help her find her family again. But until she woke up, there was little he could do.

"Aren't you cold?"

A tiny voice from behind Erik spoke, startling him. He turned sharply, with an intake of short breath. The rescued girl stood at least a horse length away from him, looking at him hesitantly. He hadn't even heard her pad up behind him, which surprised him more than anything. There were few people that could sneak up on him. He scolded himself for not answering her, and worked to put a kind smile on his face.

"No, but then I am wearing a coat, aren't I?" he answered gently. "And you stand there in just rags. Here," he offered, shrugging off his black tailored coat and holding it out to her from his seat on the bench. The girl flinched back, stumbling over her own unsure feet and falling squarely on her rump. He moved quickly to help her up, but she cringed up against the rise of rocks. He sighed, leaning back.

"I'm not going to hurt you Ma chere," he assured her, laying his coat on his lap and holding up his hands to show he meant no harm. "I only want to give you my coat, if you're cold."

The light burnet stared at him, fear dimming from her eyes, but still skimming them. The Phantom looked at her, holding her gaze, watching her search his eyes. It was rather uncomfortable, unsure of what she might see in his eyes, how much his clear blue depths might reveal about him, but he dare not break her gaze, unwilling to give her the idea that he was untrustworthy. They stayed like that for the majored of ten minutes, and, as tiring as it was, Erik felt the satisfaction that it brought as the fear left her eyes almost entirely, however much they remained haunted.

Slowly, cautiously, with shaky legs, she rose and took a tentative step towards him. Erik sat statue still, unsure of how any movement may cause her to react, afraid that scaring her in any way, would bring another long time of eye searching, which, he found was rather eerie. Her eyes were deep, and would take much longer to decipher, but he didn't want her intruding on his feelings any more than she already had in those long eternities of staring. Now standing in front of him, the girl simply looked at him, waiting, unsure and ready to flee; he could see it in her stance. He looked at her with his brows sewn up in a sympathetic expression.

"Do you want the coat, mademoiselle?" he questions softly. The girl nodded belatedly, and reached slowly, meeting his hands half way to hand her the black coat, then snatched the material quickly and backed away slightly. He smiled as she wrapped it around herself without putting her scrawny arms in the sleeves, bringing it up to her ears, snuggling in its warmth. A mile played on her own lips, savoring the sensation of warmth, which, he figured, was a rare luxury for her. Erik bit back a laugh when he scanned her image. The coat tails came down just past her knees, the shoulder not even half way filled out, drooping down. She looked at him gratefully.

"Thank you," she whispered her eyes unsure of how she felt towards him. Erik smiled.

"Think of it no more, little flower," he smiled gently, but not too wide. He was still walking on eggs; one step wrong could send her fleeting away again. "What's your name, ma chere?" the girl studied him thoughtfully, her doe eyes considering her answer, it was obvious. After a moment, she said quietly,

" Margariete." She shuffled her feet. "But everyone calls me Maggie."

"And which would you prefer I call you, little flower?" Erik asked, testing his grounds. The little girl looked at him for a long while, gazing, thinking, and then suddenly, tears welled in her eyes. The Phantom's breath caught, unsure of what to do. He stared into her eyes that were glazed with tears, wanting to bite his lip. She was closing him out, shutting the gate that had been opened momentarily; he could see that in her eyes. They became blank and cold. Shaking her head, she fled up the stairs coat and all, falling onto the bed.

Erik watched her, but decided it was best not to follow her. Se need time alone, it was clear, and for now, so did he.

The night had passed with only a short hour of sleep for Erik. The Phantom had attempted to find peace after waking from the shot nap by fingering the keys on his pipe organ, but did not press them, stroking their length, imagining their sound in his mind, silently playing a favorite tune, as not to disturb the child. He leaning into the movements of his arms, feeling the music only he could here. It was morning before he realized that he had completely lost himself in his mind, and in the process, managed to go a whole night without a thought to Christine. A short flash of her terrified face just after she ripped off his mask flashed before his mind's eyes, making him shudder. Banishing the sight, he once again began to sink into the depths of his own mind again, running his long fingers along the keys.

"Please monsieur, do you really play?"

Erik sighed gently, relief flooding through him. The child was still comfortable enough to speak to him. He turned, observing the little one before him. She looked no different physically than she did when he had rescued her, but there was something about her manor that was different, less frightened. Still, wariness glazed her eyes. She stared pointedly at Erik's chest. Erik shut his mouth, which he had opened to answer and looked down to see what had caught the girl's attention so. He almost could have kicked himself when he saw that he had allowed his shirt to loosen from his waste band, giving the material the freedom to lay open, baring most of his broad chest. He did not blame her for being uncomfortable with the sight of a ma's skin but for face and hand. He held up one finger to signal her to give him a moment, turned his back and rearranged his shirt so that it closed near the base of his throat. He turned to face her now, and her eyes relaxed, releasing the tension within him.

"You asked if I play," he reminded her, motioning to the pipe organ at which he was seated. "I do. As well as the piano, hard, violin, cello, flute… there are many things that I play."

The girl… Margariete? … nodded then widened her eyes with more and more with each instrument he listed. He smiled at the amazement on her young, wounded face. Little did she know just how much free time he had had on his hands over a life time of loneliness.

"Would you like me to play…Margariete?" he hesitated at using her name and put a questioning tone in his voice, asking permission to address her with her name. She simply nodded, and sat on the bench at his desk, cocking her head, waiting. Erik nodded and faced the organ again and began to play a song of his own composition, from his opera, which he had been working on for years, Don Juan triumphant, which had finally been performed on the disastrous day that had ruined anything and everything good in his life. Ironically, the opera had not even been finished but had only gotten to the second song.

He swayed to the music, enveloping himself in the rapture, losing himself in the softest song that he had written for is masterpiece, a lullaby, almost, that his lead female sang, the words playing out in his head. Finally, he ended, and sighed with familure comfort. Slowly, he twisted to see Margariete's reaction. The youth was in complete amazement, her face frozen in a look that told him she was impressed. But did she like the composition?

"You approve, little flower?"

"Yes, monsuire! yes!" she assured him. She looked down with a hesitant look on her face, her shoes suddenly extremely fascinating.

"What is it little one?" Erik asked gently, peering at her, but refraining from lifter her chin, afraid to touch her. She looked up at him, biting her lip.

"Would…would you play it again Monsuire?" Erik smiled softly in reply.

"Of course mademoiselle…and please," he assured her. "Call me Erik." The girl's face remained passive now, and gave only the slightest of nods to acknowlage is comment, the look in her eyes still cautious. Erik smiled now to himself, a genuine smile, one that he had not had on his face for so long he'd forgotten how wide it spread. Breathing deeply, he began to play again, his body rocking with the flowing notes.